This delectable morsel has a kinder name than its partners in the offal family. Kidney, liver, and brain are just that and have connotations that are all too familiar. “Gland”—for that is what a sweetbread is—would not be appropriate on a menu. Gland en croûte, gland glazed with this or that, or creamed glands with wild mushrooms would not be runaway best-sellers. So, someone, heaven knows when, came up with the name sweetbreads and everyone was happy. The French name, incidentally, is ris, either de veau (veal) or d’agneau (lamb), and the Italians call it animelle.
If you are as partial to offal as I am, then sweetbreads are the most luxurious of “variety meats” (the American nomenclature). They are generally the one that is the most acceptable to offal-worriers, due no doubt to their unknown origins. “I’m not too sure what they are, but I do like them,” is one ostrich-like remark that comes to mind.
There are two distinct varieties of sweetbread. In the catering trade they are called throatbreads or heartbreads. The latter are more luscious, more tender, and much more expensive. Throatbreads have a more pronounced flavor, perhaps, but can toughen up easily if overcooked. It is interesting to hear what the Larousse Gastronomique (the technical food bible) has to say about sweetbreads: “Chemical analysis of this substance shows that it contains three times more albumen and four to five times more gelatin than beef and only half as much fiber.” I thought you should know this.
Both types of sweetbread need careful and controlled cooking. Gentle braising over root vegetables with a little white wine and seasoning is how I usually go about it. This gives a modicum of flavor to what is essentially a delicate meat. They should still retain a little bit of wobble when cooked, or, rather, part-cooked, as this is only the preliminary stage of preparation. Between this initial cooking and beyond, the sweetbreads should be cooled and pressed slightly for an hour or so between two plates. Although not compulsory, this allows the sweetbread to firm up and facilitates the removal of a thin membrane. This must be peeled off, along with small lumps of fat and gristle. If this is not done, then when it comes to eating, it can be like trying to put a knife through a rubber band.
The finest sweetbreads come from the calf. When at their freshest they are pinky white and smell sweet and milky. Lamb’s sweetbreads are identical in look but about one-fifth the size. They are also about one-fifth the price. Best veal heartbreads are very expensive, even at wholesale. So don’t be shocked when you see a dish of veal sweetbreads on a menu for an astonishing sum. Or, contrarywise, be suspicious if you are offered them cheap. Either it’s going to be a child’s portion or they are lamb’s sweetbreads masquerading as veal.
This is one of the richest dishes it is possible to eat. The sweetbreads themselves are rich enough, but together with a wine-laden cream sauce and the highly flavored mushrooms, it is truly cuisine riche.
25–30 dried morels
6 tbsp butter
2 carrots, peeled and chopped
1 celery stalk, chopped
1 large leek, cleaned and sliced
2 tomatoes, chopped
salt and pepper
½ 750 ml-bottle of dry white wine
1½ lb calves’ sweetbreads, preferably
“heartbreads” or noix—ask your specialist butcher
¼ cup butter
2 large shallots, peeled and finely chopped
1 small wineglass of dry Madeira
1½ cups whipping cream
juice of ½ lemon
Begin by soaking the morels in 2 cups warm water for 30 minutes. Fry the carrot, celery, leek, and tomatoes in the butter in a wide, shallow pan until pale golden. Season and add the white wine. In a single layer, put in the sweetbreads and over a gentle heat braise them, turning from time to time. Cover and cook for about 10 minutes. Keep a look out as sweetbreads cook very quickly and you don’t want to end up with tough little nuggets. The gentlest heat possible is my advice. When cooked, lift them out, putting any remnants of vegetable that stick to them back into the pan. Transfer to a plate, put another weighted plate on top, so that the sweetbreads are pressed flat, and leave to cool. The reason for this is that when they are firm and cold they are easier to peel. Meanwhile, strain the vegetables, retaining the cooking liquor. Strain the morels, squeezing them with your hands to extract the last bit of the soaking water, and add it to the cooking liquor. Pour through the finest sieve you have (or through cheesecloth) into a clean pan. Boil gently to reduce by three-quarters, skimming off any froth that collects.
Meanwhile, peel off the thin membrane that surrounds each sweetbread—it comes off quite easily—with a small knife. Also remove any obvious bits of gristle or little lumps of fat. Cut into reasonably small slices and reserve.
To make the sauce, rinse out the pan that you initially fried the vegetables in, and in it melt the ¼ cup butter. Fry the shallots until pale gold, add the morels, lightly season with salt and pepper, and gently sauté for 5 minutes without browning. Pour in the Madeira, allow to bubble, and reduce until almost disappeared. Add the reduced morel/vegetable liquor. Stir together and cook until the mixture takes on a syrupy look. Add the cream. Slip in the pieces of sweetbread and gently bring the whole lot to a simmer. Cook very gently, stirring carefully from time to time, until the consistency of the sauce is unctuous but not too thick; rather like custard in fact. Add the lemon juice, and serve piping hot with plain boiled potatoes and a plainly cooked green vegetable.
Everybody loves things baked in breadcrumbs. Think of deep-fried fish, scampi, and chicken Kiev—surely some of the most popular (though often disgusting) dishes everywhere. It is a shame that this method of cooking can be so abused, though it is often the simplest things that are the hardest to get right.
Other sauces that go well with this are béarnaise (see here), aïoli (see here), salsa (see here) with crème fraîche, or other mayonnaise-based sauces like tartar.
1½ lb veal sweetbreads, cooked and prepared as for Ris de Veau aux Morilles (see here)
salt and pepper
4 tbsp all-purpose flour
2 eggs, beaten
breadcrumbs made from 1 small, day-old white loaf
¾ cup clarified butter (see here)
watercress and lemon wedges, to garnish
2 egg yolks
1 tsp Dijon mustard
salt
a few dashes of Tabasco sauce
2 tsp (or more) white wine vinegar
1 cup peanut oil
4 tarragon sprigs, leaves only, finely chopped
1 heaped tbsp chopped parsley
1½ tbsp chopped capers
1½ tbsp chopped gherkins
Preheat the oven to 425°F. Beat together the egg yolks, mustard, salt, and Tabasco until thick. Add a touch of vinegar and start adding the oil little by little until very thick. Thin with a little more vinegar and continue to do this until all the oil is used up and the mayonnaise is thick and glossy. Stir in the tarragon, parsley, capers, and gherkins. Pour into a bowl for serving later.
Cut the sweetbreads into pieces measuring about 2 × 1 inch. Season with salt and pepper and dip in the flour, then the beaten egg, and finally in the breadcrumbs, making sure that all surfaces are evenly coated. (A good tip here: always keep one hand for doing the dry bit and one for doing the wet bit, otherwise you end up with breadcrumbed fingers instead of breadcrumbed food.)
Put the butter in a cast-iron oven dish—a large oval Le Creuset would be ideal. Whatever you choose, make sure that it is going to be large enough to accommodate all the sweetbreads without crowding. On the stovetop, heat the butter until hot; there should be enough of it so that the sweetbreads fry in a good ¼-inch depth. Put in the sweetbreads, allow to sizzle, and put straight into the oven. (I call this “oven-frying.”) Bake for 5–7 minutes or until a good golden crust has formed on the underside. Flip over and cook for a further 5 minutes. Baste a few times during this process. Drain on paper towels and serve immediately, piping hot and simply garnished with some watercress and lemon wedges. Needless to say, French fries are good with this.
It is advisable to buy lamb’s sweetbreads in spring when the lamb itself is young and tender. The sweetbreads, too, are in a similar state and are meltingly soft and succulent. Do make sure that they are spankingly fresh, as otherwise they can go off, after being cooked, quicker than anything I know, particularly in warm weather.
This is very similar to the classic blanquette de veau in which an egg and cream liaison is used to thicken the sauce.
1½ lb fresh lamb’s sweetbreads (never use frozen)
1 cup dry white wine
1 cup chicken stock
salt and pepper
12 small, young carrots
12 large spring onions, bulb end only, trimmed
12 very small new potatoes, scraped
12 button mushrooms
2 tbsp butter
2 tsp flour
2 strips lemon rind, totally pithless
2 tbsp fresh peas
¾ cup heavy cream
2 egg yolks
juice of ½ lemon
2 tarragon sprigs, leaves only
Place the sweetbreads in a saucepan, cover with cold water, and bring to the boil. Just as it is about to boil, drain the sweetbreads and discard the water. Allow to cool only enough to be able to handle the sweetbreads. Peel off the thin membrane and set aside. In a stainless steel or enamel pan, reduce the dry white wine by half. Add the chicken stock, season, and bring back to the boil, and in this liquid poach all the vegetables, except for the peas, until tender. Add the sweetbreads and heat through for 3–4 minutes. Melt the butter in a saucepan and add the flour. Make a roux. Strain all the liquid from the sweetbreads and vegetables. Keep both warm. Stir the liquid into the roux. Whisk to make completely smooth, bring to a simmer, add the lemon rind and cook very gently for 10–15 minutes. Pick out the lemon rind and return the sauce to the sweetbreads. Reheat, together with the peas. Whisk together the cream and egg yolks and, over a very gentle heat, add to the pan and incorporate the liaison gently but thoroughly until completely blended into the sauce. Do not bring back to the boil, otherwise the sauce will separate, but sufficient heat is needed to make the egg yolk thicken the sauce. Stir in the lemon juice—do not worry, this will not curdle the sauce—and the tarragon, and give the blanquette a few more stirs. Serve with some fresh noodles.